


Little League Quidditch

by KaytiKazoo



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Quidditch, Alternate Universe - Wizards, Coach Derek, Coach Stiles, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-07
Updated: 2016-11-07
Packaged: 2018-08-29 15:19:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8494972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaytiKazoo/pseuds/KaytiKazoo
Summary: All brooms fly like 3 feet off the ground, the bludgers are stuffed, keepers often get distracted by clouds, the seekers are better at playing tag than catching the snitch, and games are over when it’s naptime.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fatetouched](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fatetouched/gifts).



Stiles smiled at his kids, all thirteen of them, floating around on their little brooms. When he’d first started, he’d kept his hand out of his pocket and at the ready at all times. He’d been so nervous that someone would fall off their broom and hurt themselves, but he’d learned to relax. Little league quidditch was no more dangerous than little league soccer he’d grown up playing before he’d gone to get his magic education.

  
“Carlos, come back this way, bud, that’s the edge of the field,” he called. Carlos shakily turned his broom around and headed back towards the rest of the group. He could see his boyfriend hovering high above the other field, the one with the goal posts thrust up high into the sky, the high school team zipping back and forth on full size brooms. He looked back to his own team, a baker’s dozen of kids aged 4 through 7, hovering a few feet off the ground. He was letting them get acclimated to their brooms again since it’d been a couple days since they’d met. He didn’t really care if they followed the rules of quidditch, that was for later in their careers. He just wanted them to have fun. They were just kids, after all.

“Okay, guys,” he said, walking from the sidelines to the center of the pitch. “Group up here, kids!”

They angled their brooms carefully and tried to pour of as much speed as they could. The models they rode didn’t go fast in any regards, but fast enough for these kids.

“Good job,” he praised. “You guys are getting so good at that!”

He took a mental count of his kids, smiling at his niece, Clara, who was beaming at him from her broom.

“Quentin, both hands on the handle, please,” he stated, looking at Jackson Whittemore’s kid who perpetually had his finger up his nose digging around for something valuable.

“Thank you.”

“Brooke, stop bumping Mal with your broom, please.”

This was his life, handing out encouragements with one sentence and disciplines with the next. He recounted his kids.

“Okay, so who wants to scrimmage?”

Brooke’s hand shot up, just like it did every day. Her broom wobbled, but she kept it steady easily. She was a natural on a broom at just 5 years old. He could see her going on to play for any professional team if she wanted, chasing the Snitch and winning the Quidditch World Cup.

“Yes, Brooke?”

“What’s a scrimmage?”

Stiles had explained this at least once a week, but he didn’t mind. She was eager to learn. He explained it again. She nodded along. It was an easy day, getting the kids to fall into their positions. He tossed out the stuffed bludgers, then the stuffed quaffle, and finally let the significantly slowed down snitch before heading off the pitch to hop on his own broom. It wasn’t the best broom, but it was a gift from his boyfriend for his birthday.

His boyfriend, the super-rich momma’s boy, could’ve bought him the top of the line model, but considering Stiles is the coach of a little league, that might have been overkill. It was a nice mid-line model with his initials carved delicately into the handle.

His seekers got distracted playing tag.

The stuffed bludgers were tossed around like a game of monkey in the middle.

His keepers had to be herded back onto the pitch before they chased clouds right into the high school pitch.

“Who wants to play a different game?” he called as the team started to lose interest. He still had twenty minutes before parents would be there to pick up their kids and he didn’t want to have to explain why some of the kids had wandered off while he tried to keep a game of quidditch going. “Who wants to go as fast as you can?”

That perked them up. He was always reining them in, telling them they couldn’t go full speed. They were little speed demons, always interested in going fast. He had joked once to his boyfriend that they should be renamed the Beacon Hills Sonics, but the joke had fallen flat on his boyfriend’s pure blood ears.

He had the team line up on one end of their pitch just before the hoops while he flew to the other end.

“On my whistle, I want you to race down to me. Carefully. Don’t bump into anyone.”

He counted down and blew his whistle.

The team sped down the pitch as fast as they could make their little brooms go and came screeching to a halt before Stiles, grinning. Stiles showed them patterns to follow down the pitch and he watched as they tried to steer their brooms the same way he had. They needed work and time, but they were good little fliers.

At 4:30 on the dot, several parents Apparated onto the side of the pitch. Stiles led their kids over to them and helped them land. The whole group was awful at landing. It was adorable. He saw all 13 kids off to their parents, even managing to be pleasant to Jackson Whittemore, before hopping on his broom and zooming up into the high school pitch.

He sidled up beside his boyfriend and playfully bumped Coach Hale’s broom with his own.

“Hi Stiles,” his boyfriend grinned. “How was practice?”

“It was good! I got my kids to almost fly in formation!”

He’d met Derek when he’d gotten hired as the little league coach, the little league that Derek had petitioned for. They’d awkwardly danced around each other for a couple months before Stiles had verbally assaulted Derek about how attractive he was and how much it sucked that he wasn’t gay so Stiles could be all up on that. Stiles had been mortified by his own verbal diarrhea, but Derek hadn’t minded.

“I’m not gay,” he had said, “but I’m also not straight, and I wouldn’t mind you being all up on this.”

Stiles had peeked out from his hands where he’d buried his face in shame.

“What?”

Derek had shrugged.

“I was actually going to ask you out after practice tonight.”

Stiles had laughed.

“You’re serious?”

Derek had nodded.

And that was that. They’d been dating for three years now. They had an apartment, and a dog. His name was Butternut Squash, Buddy for short. They were happy.

“Jackson didn’t give you any shit?”

“Nope, he apparently has a newfound respect for coaches. I wonder where he found that,” Stiles said playfully. Jackson had given Stiles quite a bit of shit over Stiles’ job not mattering, asking how much he made, and it had upset Stiles.

Derek grinned.

“I don’t know what you mean. I didn’t do anything.”

“Mmmhm, sure. And Quentin Whittemore doesn’t pick his nose every day.”

Derek leaned over and kissed him gently.

“Coach Hale,” one of the high school players groaned. “Can you guys at least save it until we leave?”

“It’s sweet,” another player replied.

“It’s gross. It’s like seeing my parents make out.”

“Why are you watching your parents make out?”

“I’m not, it’s just an example.”

“Seems like a really specific example to come up with that fast, Mike.”

“Stop it, Maxine.”

The two, Derek’s best beaters, continued arguing around the pitch.

“I should get going. Butternut will wonder if we’ve abandoned him.”

Derek caught Stiles’ sleeve before he could fly off, pulling him in closer for a long kiss.

“I love you, Coach Stilinski,” Derek muttered into Stiles’ mouth.

“I love you, Coach Hale.”

**Author's Note:**

> Story inspired by a tumblr post  
> Writing inspired by Meredith
> 
> Sorry I've been gone so long. I got distracted.  
> -K


End file.
